Magnolia
by Satine16
Summary: AU. Rogue is an Agent of Mystique's Acolytes of Magneto. Remy is a thief and a liar, his allies unaware of his two faced nature. When they are given the same assignment, one that brings them to New York City, they meet and both begin to change. Ch 3 up!
1. Intro

Title: Magnolia

by: Satine16

Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me, they belong to MARVEL comics. I am not doing this for money so please do not sue me!

Chapter One: Intro

The old ceiling fan worked hard but spun slowly, unable to fight the heavy heat and humidity saturating the room. The motel room smelled of corroding life: sickly sweet and inundated with sweat. The thin ecru sheets were stained and worn and lay exposed on an unmade queen sized bed. An old, red, metal oscillating fan shook in the corner, also unable to keep up with the heat.

Remy LeBeau sat quietly in the chair near the window, staring intently between the metal blinds out into the hot Louisiana afternoon, smoking a cigarette. He wore a pair of old navy boxer shorts, his shaggy auburn hair unclean and unkempt. His body, composed of solid, lean muscle, was contorted elegantly in the chair, like a predatory cat.

The only sunlight that entered the room crept through the cracks in the aluminum blinds. Long thin lines of warm yellow light stretched languidly across the carpeted floor. As Remy took a long drag, the deep red color of his eyes flashed brightly.

With a loud bang the bathroom door slammed open and the harsh fluorescent light spilled across the room. Tripping slightly over herself, Belle stumbled toward the bed. With a quick glance Remy noted the remnants of her cocaine on the bathroom counter. That was her diet now: coke in the morning, heroin to party at night.

Her hair was a bright, bottle blonde and she wore a lavender satin and lace nightgown. As she rested against the bed, Remy studied her diminished figure. When they met Belle had the supple curves and tone of a lingerie model. Today, her body was frail and bony; two ribs were visible even under the thin fabric she was wearing. Her cheek bones were as sharp as two blades in the center of her face and the deep purple hollows underneath her eyes successfully eliminated any of the glimmer that had the chance of remaining.

"Fuck!" she swore loudly as her surgically repaired nose began gushing blood. At the rate she was going she would ruin her septum again by the end of the year.

Remy sat in silence for a few moments, watching Belle tilt her head back in an effort to stop the bleeding. Her form was contorted on the bed, her awkwardly thin limbs giving her the appearance of a broken doll.

Without a word, Remy stood and silently slipped on jeans and a white t-shirt. Running his fingers through his hair twice, he grabbed his beaten up trench coat off the back of a rickety wooden chair and headed for the door.

"Where you goin'?" Belle asked pointedly, now turning to face him. The pale skin above her curvaceous upper lip was now stained red.

"Out," Remy purred, his voice smooth. Gracefully, he moved to her side and lifted her towards him, pressing her frail body against his own. Slowly, he ran his hand up her leg, feeling the stringy weak muscles under his fingertips. "Ah won't be gone long."

She smiled wickedly, and he remained next to her long enough to take in the image. Quickly and silently, Remy exited the room, leaving no trace that he had ever been there.

***

The piercing bangs of the gunshots rang out, shaking the glass and steel around her. Perfect aim, as always. A smug smile crossed her lips as she tucked the silver strands of hair behind her ear and placed the weapon in its holster on her hip. The heels of her boots clicked sharply against the floor as she turned and exited the shooting gallery. Her mother was waiting for her.

"You're almost as good as I am," she smiled contentedly, having watched her through the window.

"Gimme a week and Ah'll be even better," Rogue replied an air of viciousness in her tone.

"That's my girl," Mystique grinned widely.

The pair walked together toward the large room at the end of the massive steel hallway. Bright lights beat down from the vaulted ceilings. They were dressed almost identically, in their uniforms representing the Acolytes of Magneto. Each outfit was high quality black leather, and each reflected the owners rank in the organization.

Rogue wore her hair in a sleek ponytail, with a few silver strands tucked behind each ear. Her uniform consisted of a one piece jumpsuit and knee high, laced leather boots. On each hip she sported a shiny, silver pistol and on her hands she had sleek, black leather gloves.

Mystique on the other hand wore a two piece, leather ensemble. Her top was a corset, embellished with silver stitching. Around her neck she had tied a black fabric choker, on which was stitched the symbol of the Acolytes, a small design resembling a DNA double helix over a crucifix. As leader of the team, Mystique served as a walking artillery. A dagger rested in her left boot and she wore large handguns on both of her hips. Over her back, supported with a thick shoulder strap, was a large plasma rifle, a toy without which she never left home.

The room at the end of the hall was a large, metal circle. Inside sat four more of the mutant army's deadliest assassins. The Acolytes of Magneto was a much smaller group of followers. Lead by Mystique, the group consisted of eight of the most lethal members of Magneto's Brotherhood. They were violent and undetectable. They were the best.

Seated all the way to the right was a man wearing a red linen shirt underneath a sleek, black leather jacket. His yellow blonde hair was neatly combed and his classically beautiful face was interrupted by his oddly shaped nose, which had clearly been broken on more than one occasion. He continually fidgeted with an expensive silver lighter making the flames that appeared dance. To his left was a hulk of a man wearing a sleeveless white undershirt with leather pants and combat boots. He had waterfalls of unruly blonde hair and around his neck he wore silver dog tags. If it was possible the man to his left was even larger. His hair was cropped very close to his head and he wore a hulking bomber jacket and massive boots. He sat at the table shining the bright silver plated knuckles he wore on both hands. Finally, a lithe woman was perched at the final seat at the table. Her long, jet black hair was secured in a tidy knot at the base of her skull. Her leather suit had an Asian inspired top and shorts for bottoms accessorized with knee high boots and silver sunglasses with cobalt blue lenses. She sat at the table examining her silver fingernails.

"Ladies and gentleman we have new assignments," Mystique began speaking immediately following her entrance into the room. Rogue quickly took her seat next to the man in the red shirt.

Quickly Mystique activated the interactive computer system, which pulled up holographic images of the people they were meant to find, and passed around sealed red envelopes to each agent.

"Target Number 43517: Senator Allan Jennings. Jennings has been a long time supporter of the mutant registration act. Now he is pushing for a bill that would allow for mutant concentration camps. We want him taken care of quickly and neatly. Deathstryke. Sabretooth. This is yours. Your brief is in front of you. Make it look like a hunting accident."

Mystique's yellow eyes glinted brightly in the glow of the projected image. The delicate intricacies of her face were highlighted, and though sadistic she looked stunning. Her fiery orange hair was cropped into an angled bob, ending sharply at her chin and accentuating her bone structure.

"Juggernaut. Rogue. Pyro. You three are coming with me. We believe that Scarlett Witch and Quicksilver have encountered complications while on their last mission in Romania. It is our job to assist and retrieve them. We leave in one hour."


	2. Parallel

Title: Magnolia

by: Satine16

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, they are property of MARVEL. Please don't sue me!

Chapter 2: Parallel

"Cody!" her voice pierced the room and echoed as she shot up in bed. Her thick hair was soaked through with sweat, and her white sheets were stained dark. This was the twenty-fifth night she had experienced these incredibly vivid nightmares. She would dream of people and places she had never seen, though they appeared so indescribably tangible.

The sleek, metal room in which she slept was coated in a seemingly endless blackness as she searched for the light switch. With a dim flicker, the harsh white light began to fill the room, its Spartan decor made visible. Rolling out of bed, Rogue could feel every inch of her bare skin tingle as the sweat cooled. Marching into the bathroom, she turned on the shower and stepped in instantly. The ice cold water beat down on her joints and muscles, tightening them up. Cleaning up quickly, she stepped into a pair of indigo jeans and tugged a grey t-shirt over her head. In a smooth motion she secured her thick hair into a tidy, tight bun at the nape of her neck.

Glancing over to the clock as she tied her gym shoes, she noted that it was just becoming dawn. Yesterday had marked the final day of debriefing, it had been thirty-six hours since the team had returned from Romania, job complete, Quicksilver and Scarlett Witch in hand. Her mother had finished a day earlier, which meant Rogue knew exactly where to find her.

Heading down the hallway she turned to a large, thick door and entered the numbers 9791 into the sleek keypad. The door lifted swiftly and she stepped inside. It sealed again behind her, leaving only a slight glimmer to light the room.

Lying in the rectangular bed, unconscious, was the slim, nude body of Pietro, Magneto's son. Stepping out of the bathroom, fully dressed in tan pants, an ivory linen blouse, and brown boots, Mystique smiled at her daughter.

"It's dawn. Magneto arrives soon," Rogue spoke; her voice was cold and carried a tone of warning.

"I know. It's not as if Quicksilver can't get ready quickly enough," Mystique answered, her tone snide.

"And how do you think he would react, knowing you share the same bed with him and his son?" her accent was subdued, and her words were sharp.

"I don't plan for him to find out."

"The Witch knows."

"I know that. So does Quicksilver. He addressed the issue. It won't be a problem."

"See you in the conference room," Rogue nodded her head and exited. Walking swiftly, she entered the large meeting place of the Acolytes, surprised at what she found there.

Inside, Magneto was already waiting, the Scarlett Witch at his side. Eric sat thinking, next to his beautiful daughter. His hair was sleek and silver and the lines on his face seemed deeper than they were merely a month before. His toned frame still looked solid underneath his crisp blue shirt and navy suit. Wanda resembled him, in her strong bone structure and her deep blue eyes. Her ebony hair was long and straight, hanging midway down her back. It offered a stark contrast to the snowy pale tone of her skin. She wore a deep, blood red dress and matching heels and fidgeted with her fingernails while she waited.

"Ah, my dear," he greeted her warmly. "How are you?"

"Healthy," Rogue smiled, her tone light and her accent strong again.

"Your success in Romania was astounding. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to reward you."

Wanda let loose an angry huff, to which her father snapped, "If you didn't behave as such a prattling twit, I would be rewarding you as well." In response, she crossed her arms and sat back in her chair, pouting. Slowly, the rest of the Acolytes trickled in.

"Ah, Mystique," Magneto beamed as she walked in, manila folders in hand.

"Here are the notes on the debriefs," she smiled and handed them over.

He smiled affectionately, and leaned in, kissing her sincerely. Looking deep into his eyes, Mystique ran her right index finger over a scar on his jaw and smiled, taking her seat at his left. Quicksilver was the last to dash into the room, wearing a crisp, white, button down shirt and black slacks. His jet black hair was tidy and his skin smelled fresh. He glanced briefly at Rogue, a sparkle glimmering in his blue eyes, the same as his father and sister.

"Sorry that I'm late," he apologized.

"Pietro," Wanda barely breathed his name, and sat erect as he entered the room.

"Not at all. You should be tired after compensating for your sister's mistakes for so long in Romania," Magneto spoke loudly as Quicksilver took his seat at his father's right hand side. Wanda rolled her eyes.

"My Acolytes, I come today to congratulate you, and to offer two of you a well earned honor. Quicksilver. Rogue. I come today to make you Lieutenants. You will help Mystique in her planning of operations and in leading teams in the field. The other operatives will look to you for leadership and guidance. Two things I feel you will be able to offer in spades. Congratulations," Magneto stood and applauded for his son and adopted daughter. Mystique quickly followed suit, the rest of the room responding only after she did. Wanda was the last to get to her feet, looking adoringly at Peter and spitefully at Rogue. Rogue felt that fire in her liquid blue eyes would have burned away the flesh on her bones if at all possible.

Uncomfortably, Rogue stared at the table a moment and looked up just in time to catch Pietro's kind eyes. Smiling politely, he nodded, encouraging her and acknowledging her efficiency and great capabilities.

***

The thick smell of Remy's cigarette mingled strangely with the airy, sweet smell of the ornately decorated room. Stretching comfortably, Remy smiled and rested his hands behind his head. The shell colored, satin sheets were tangled up in his muscular legs, and draped loosely over his tight stomach muscles and strong hips. He remained still while he listened to her clear, alto voice as she hummed in the next room. Rolling languidly out of the sweat stained sheets, and putting out his cigarette in a crystal ash tray he padded slowly into the epic marble bathroom.

"I wondered when you would wake up," Ororo chuckled and finished pinning up her endlessly long silver hair in an intricate updo.

"Mmmmmm, Ah love the way you smell," he murmured as he kissed the back of her long, swan like, neck.

"Back off, LeBeau. I need to meet my husband in a half an hour," her voice was firm, though she smiled as she passed him the clasp of her sparkling diamond necklace. Fastening it tightly, he stepped away and turned on the tall, sparkling shower.

"'S not fair ya know. Lookin' that good an' not lettin' me touch," he raised his eyebrow and smiled crookedly.

The wealthy woman sat at her large, elaborate vanity, its sprawling mirror reaching effortlessly toward the vaulted ceiling. Her long lean form was perched on an overstuffed velvet cushion which sat atop the rounded wooden bench. The beautiful, subtle curves of her form were supported by a shear, lacy, black corset and over her endless legs ran seamless black stockings. Ororo smirked at his remark, and stood quickly from her vanity. She walked over to the black velvet gown standing in wait in the corner of the room, her stiletto heels clicking mercilessly against the hard floor.

"Help me in first," she demanded in an airy voice. He padded over to her quickly and smirked as he played with the small ruffles on her black panties and the garters attached to her thigh highs. A touch of anger in her expression, she slapped his hands away and stepped into her gown. Smoothly, Remy pulled up the zipper and secured her inside.

She floated back to her vanity to look over the final product. In her shoes she was slightly taller than he was barefoot. Her strapless, velvet gown hugged her form tightly, before turning into a billowing, floating skirt. Remy stood silent, watching her as she tidied a few final strands.

"Get in the shower. By then most of my husband's men will be gone. A few will remain to…" she was abruptly interrupted as a large man in a black suit entered the bathroom.

"Madame?" he called out questioningly, the French part of his accent thick. He froze at the sight of Remy's naked body next to his boss's wife. Stuttering for a moment, he stared at her, unsure of what to say.

In one fluid motion, and with lightning speed, Ororo pulled a gun from the top of her vanity and shot the man three times in the chest. With a gurgle he fell, his crimson blood staining the pristine marble floor. Remy watched silently, never flinching, the steam from the shower now spilling out into the room.

"As far as my husband will know he came after me while I was getting dressed. Take your shower quickly and exit out the back. I'll see you soon," she blew him a kiss and waved. Sleekly she slipped on her elbow length gloves and she carefully dropped her pearl handled revolver in her beaded evening bag. Remy watched as she exited the room, her movements as elegant as a princess.

Outside the door, a large, Native American man stood waiting in a cleanly pressed suit. He was her personal bodyguard and the only man on the grounds whose loyalties were solely with Ororo. She had hired him herself two years ago, unhappy with the men that the Senator had provided. Ultimately, her husband had hired them, and it was to him they answered.

"Forge, take care of Duncan," her voice was sharp. "Clean the bedroom as well. I don't want the Senator to have to see any of this."

"Of course," he flipped open his thin, silver phone and began talking rapidly as the pair descended the stairs.

Sighing deeply as he looked at poor Duncan's body, Remy stepped into the shower.


	3. Inhuman

Title: Magnolia

by: Satine16

Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me, they belong to MARVEL comics. I am not doing this for money so please do not sue me!

Chapter Three: Inhuman

The rain poured down vigorously and did nothing to quench the pressing humidity of the Louisiana summer. The sky was the color of dull titanium, and the clouds pressed down from the heavens like heavy fabric.

The family property stretched out endlessly, its lawn unnaturally green, its walls pristinely white. The land had been a vast plantation prior to the civil war, and had not changed very much over the years. The dark, red, dirt drive to the house stretched almost a mile through the beautiful lawn and wall like bushes. The mansion itself was an untouched white, with grand Greco-Roman columns, and a sprawling balcony across the top floor. Its windows stretched endlessly from floor to ceiling and on a sunny day, saturated the rooms with warm sunlight. Inside, everything was ornate and antique and spanned generations. The family had owned it before the war, maintained it during the war, held it during Reconstruction, and kept it ever since. They would never leave it.

Remy sat at the dinner table, sipping his drink and listening to the wind howl against the old wooden walls amidst the buzzing of conversation. The long mahogany table seated twenty, and tonight it was full. In each seat there were well connected, Southern, men in their clean suits and their young, trophy wives.

Across from him sat Belladonna in black silk, drinking a vodka tonic. Her blonde hair was in a tidy chignon, and her makeup did its best to combat what the drugs had done to her face. Between them, at the head of the table was Big Daddy, Belle's father. He was well over six feet tall, and his barrel chest rose and fell heavily with each breath. His jet black hair was now peppered with grey, as was his thick beard. His eyes were the same amber tone as Belle's, but Remy noticed the real family resemblance: they both had the same glint of eager cruelty deep inside. At the opposite end of the table was Belle's mother. She was a woman who had declared outright war with the aging process and her last face lift made it seem as if she constantly smelled something foul. Every last inch of her dress was beaded with jade and silver and her makeup was as thick as paint. Her left elbow rested on her arm rest and in her limp left hand she held a burning cigarette in her long pearl cigarette holder.

"Remy, walk with me," Big Daddy's deep, guttural voice commanded.

Remy nodded and rose from the table. He followed Big Daddy into the parlor and they stopped in front of the large picture window.

"Funny thing about storms," Big Daddy began as he lit his cigar and looked out the window. "They easily blow away anyone stupid enough to go out in them. The bodies can end up in completely different counties."

Remy nodded.

"Ah know men like you LeBeau. Ya only wanna be on the same side as the biggest bad. Ah get it. It's survival," his voice rasped and he inhaled his cigar deeply. "Belle loves you. Ah don't know why, but she does." A long curl of white smoke lingered toward the ceiling as he exhaled and there was a prolonged moment of silence. "Ah'm tellin' you now, you double cross me and mine and Ah will dismember you alive in my bathtub and it'll be the cops that'll help me get rid of your body."

Big Daddy took another puff of his cigar, "We clear?"

"Crystal," Remy didn't blink as Big Daddy's pitiless eyes beat down on him.

***

"Please! What are you going to do to me?"

The young man's cries were audible throughout the compound; the ringing sounds of his screams bounced off the steel walls and vibrated heavily in the air. Sabretooth dragged him by the arms, the young man's left shoulder visibly popped from its socket, into a small, white room. With a ferocious growl, he tossed him, like a ragdoll, into the chair standing in the center of the room and handcuffed him in place. Smirking at him for the last time, Sabretooth turned and exited the small interrogation room.

"Please! Don't hurt me! What do you want?" the young man called desperately after him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Heinrich," Mystique stepped through the door moments later in an inky black suit and patent leather high heels. "My name is Mystique and you are in the quarters of the Acolytes of Magneto." The smile on her face was sickly sweet and the look in her eyes was violent and amused. "You have information that we need."

"I'll tell you! Anything you want to know!" his words were slurred and blood had dried on his lips. His formerly handsome face had been brutalized beyond recognition; the left side was so swollen and purple it was hard to imagine the bone structure underneath, and the right side was coated in the blood that had dribbled down from his scalp. His grey Armani suit was in tatters, and his right ankle seemed broken.

"Yes, you will," Mystique smiled wide and made a note in the portfolio she was carrying. Turning sharply on her heal, Mystique exited the cube shaped room the way that she came.

After that, the room went silent. The man looked around in anticipation for a moment, before hanging his head overwhelmed. He sat, silent and still as stone, for a few more moments, until shivers ran down his spine. Defeated, his body ached as it shook and he tasted both blood and tears as they trickled onto his tongue. Then there was the voice.

"Shhh…" she whispered. Her voice was sweet and she had a very thick Southern accent, "Ah'm here ta help you."

He saw her feet approach the chair. She was wearing a pair of pink ADIDAS gym shoes and jeans. Tilting his head up, he looked at the girl face to face. Even through all the blurriness of his wounds and tears, he could tell she was beautiful. She wore a simple white t-shirt and her thick hair was tied back in a high ponytail. Tenderly, she kneeled down in front of him. She smelled fresh.

"Don't cry," she said sweetly, and reached out a clean hand, with manicured nails, to affectionately wipe away the tears on his cheeks. Her skin was so soft. "Ah won't let them hurt you anymore," she rested her palm gently against his bloodied cheek.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice shaking. She smiled sweetly, and her eyes sparkled. He felt the pressure of her hand against his cheek intensify.

Suddenly, every muscle in his body tensed and began to quiver. Rogue closed her eyes and placed her other hand on the opposite side of his face. The color in his skin began to drain, until he began to have the appearance of bleached parchment. Fiercely, she threw her head back and let loose a long moan. Breaking the contact with him, her body crumpled to the side.

Moments later, she rose from her slumber and to her feet. Efficiently, she brushed off her jeans and straightened her hair. With a cold glance, she looked the man over from head to toe. He was limp in the chair, his mouth agape. A small river of drool ran from his bottom lip down his front and into his lap.

Turning quickly, Rogue exited the room.

"Well?" Mystique demanded.

"He's a vegetable," Rogue answered, her voice cold. "Clean it up," she spoke firmly to Sabretooth, and he nodded.

"Do you have what we need, daughter?" Mystique asked with piqued interest.

"The man we are looking for is in New York. His name is Charles Xavier."


End file.
